Heartfelt
by AJ Wesley
Summary: Tag to "Heart." They had to get out of there, but Dean wanted to give Sam just a little more time...


Heartfelt

A Coda to "Heart"

_This story first appeared in the zine Blood Broithers 2_

This sucked. This really freakin' sucked.

Dean swiped angrily at the wetness on his cheek.

_Why_? he found himself asking of a God he'd only recently decided he believed in. _Why Sam? He's the good one, remember? Hasn't he been through enough? How could You—?_

His brother's wrenching sobs demanded his attention, and Dean found himself moving without conscious thought. The sight that greeted him when he reached the doorway, though, froze him in his tracks.

Sam sat on the floor, bent, broken, Madison in his lap. He was rocking her gently, his arms wrapped around her lifeless body, holding her tightly to his chest, his cheek pressed against hers. His eyes were squeezed shut, but the tears still escaped. The .45 lay on the carpet beside him, discarded like an evil thing once the deed was done.

Dean felt fresh tears prick his eyes, worked his jaw against the trembling of his chin. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but there was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do. He felt helpless, completely useless, and—

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," Sam cried. "I'm so sorry."

And guilty.

His brother's anguish tore up Dean's insides. He took a step to the right, out of the doorway, then slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. Why was he feeling guilty? For relinquishing the gun to Sam? For not researching further? Crushing Sam's hopes that—

Dean's gut clenched.

They'd exhausted every avenue, right? Contacted every source? Consulted journal and text and…and…

Lycanthropy had no cure. He was certain of that. But Sam…

It had taken months for Sam to let go of the guilt he'd carried over Jessica's death. He'd blamed himself for something he'd had no control over; vision or no, it hadn't been his fault. But this…this would scar him again.

Dean tried to swallow, nearly gagged. _God, Sammy, this isn't what I wanted for you._ For years he'd tried to protect Sam from…from _this_. He'd tried to take on the brunt of the killing so his little brother didn't have to. Sam had taken the life of an innocent today and lost a little more of his own innocence when she died. Dean had watched it be slowly whittled away since they'd been back together, more so in the last few months, and he realized he couldn't protect Sam forever.

He couldn't protect Sam forever.

The weight of that thought crushed him, making it hard for Dean to breathe. What if he couldn't protect Sam? What if he couldn't save him?

No. No, there had to be a way.

There had been no way to save Madison.

Dean's hands clenched into fists. He'd find a way. He'd find a way or…or he'd make sure he saved one bullet.

It was quiet. Dean blinked, his eyes refocusing on his brother. Sam's shoulders still hitched, but he cried without sound now. Whether it was for the loss of the girl or the loss of his innocence, Sam needed to grieve. Dean closed his eyes. They had to get out of there, but he could give his brother a little more time.

Dean started when the phone rang.

The answering machine picked up, filling the room with her voice. _"Hey, it's Madison. I'm not home right now, so leave me a message and I promise I'll call you back."_

_Beep._

_"Hi, Maddie! It's Jill. You said you'd be in work today, but you're not here. Just calling to make sure everything is all right. Call me, okay?"_

What time was it? Dean's eyes searched for a clock, found his brother instead.

Sam smoothed the hair back from Madison's face with a trembling hand. She still lay in his lap, her head cradled in the crook of his arm. "I kissed her good-bye," Sam said, his voice hoarse and so low, Dean had to strain to hear, "and she helped steady the gun. Then she…pushed my finger back on the trigger and…" Another tear spilled over his cheek.

And just knowing that lifted some of the heaviness in Dean's chest. He sent a silent _thank you_ to the girl who had captured his brother's heart. Madison hadn't simply let Sam commit murder. She had needed him there, wanted him there—no one should die alone—but she had, in effect, taken her own life. The blood spatter on Sam's shirt told Dean how close she'd been to Sam when the shot had been fired…

Wait.

Dean stared. Madison was wearing Sam's button-down shirt. And nothing else. His gaze shifted to the bedroom door, the tangled sheets, the blankets hanging to the floor. Dean swore softly. Yesterday, he'd hoped his brother would get lucky. Today, he cursed himself for leaving. He was pretty sure Madison was the first girl Sam had slept with since Jessica.

And didn't that just suck.

"Sammy?" he said quietly.

No response.

Dean stood and crossed to his brother, crouching beside him. "Sammy…we have to go."

Sam's brows drew together and he swallowed. For a long moment he didn't move, then finally he nodded.

Dean gave his shoulder a squeeze. He picked up the .45 and tucked it into his waistband before he stood, moving past Sam toward the bedroom. He paused in the doorway. "See to Madison," he said, "I'll take care of everything else." He knew Sam would understand. With a final glance, Dean went to work.

It was the fastest clean-up he'd ever done. He changed the bedsheets, wiped down anything he thought Sam might have touched. With all the strange killings that had gone on in the area and the state of the room they'd locked Madison in when she'd turned, Dean hoped this crime scene would baffle the police just as much as all the others. At least long enough for them to make it well out of town.

He went out to the car and grabbed Sam's duffel from the back seat. When he returned, Sam was sitting on one of the stools at the counter, staring at his bloody hands. Madison lay on the floor, dressed in the jeans and shirt Dean had last seen her in the day before.

Dean nodded, dropping the duffel at Sam's feet. "Clean up and get changed, bro. Anything with blood on it goes in the bag." He pointed at the black garbage bag outside the bedroom door that already contained the sheets and pillowcases. He busied himself with a few more details while Sam slowly obeyed. When he was finished, Dean tied up the bag, then grabbed Sam's duffel.

"Come on," he said gently, a guiding hand on his brother's arm.

Sam took a few awkward steps, his gaze falling on Madison once more. He stilled for a moment, drawing a shaky breath. He finally turned his back and walked past Dean out the door. Dean sighed, giving the room and Madison one final glance. Then he followed Sam.

oooOOOooo

They drove for miles and miles without a single word spoken. When Dean couldn't drive any farther, he pulled off the road to a no-name motel and got them a room.

Sam was moving on autopilot. He preceded Dean through the door, dropped his duffel beside the dresser, and sat heavily on the edge of his bed. Dean let the door close behind him and tossed his own bag onto the closer of the two beds. He stood there in awkward silence for a moment, then licked his lips. "You want the shower?" he asked.

Sam shook his head.

"I'm going to, then." He pursed his lips, didn't move. "You gonna be okay?"

A nod.

Dean nodded in return. "Right." He paused a moment, not really certain what he was waiting for, then headed toward the bathroom.

His brother's voice stopped him.

"I'm sorry."

Dean turned, not sure he'd heard right. "What?"

"I'm sorry." Softer this time.

Gut clenching, Dean crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bed directly across from his brother. "Sam, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"I do." He lifted his eyes, met Dean's.

"No, Sam, you—"

"I should never have made you promise."

It took Dean a moment. That was not what he had been expecting. His mouth hung open, but the words wouldn't come.

"God, Dean, I never want you to have to—" Sam's voice caught, his eyes welling.

"Sam!" Dean waited until he had his brother's attention before continuing. "Sammy, listen to me. It's not gonna come to that, okay?"

"You don't know that. What scares me the most is that I might hurt you. Or worse."

"Sam, we've had this conversation."

"I know, Dean. I—I just—" Sam ran a shaking hand through his hair, then wrapped his arms around his middle and leaned against his legs.

Sam was lost. Dean got that. The kid had had his heart ripped out and stomped on more times than Dean could count. But he always came back. And, yeah, maybe it took a little longer each time, but he'd come back from this, too.

Dean shifted from his bed to his brother's, sitting beside Sam, arms just touching. He clasped his hands between his knees. "Sam," he said, choosing his words carefully, "we're gonna get through this, okay?" He waited, saw Sam's eyes slide his way. At least he knew he had his little brother's attention. "There's just two things you gotta remember. One: I've always been able to whoop your ass, so there's no _way_ you're taking me out." He held up a staying hand when Sam opened his mouth to protest. "And two: I'm older, so I'm always right."

"Dean—"

"I'm asking you to trust me here, Sammy."

Sam's head lifted and he looked at Dean full on. "I do."

"Good." He felt Sam relax a little, and nodded. The shower could wait. He would stay at his brother's side for as long as it took.

And if he had to stay up for a week straight to chase away the nightmares, so what? It was what Winchesters did.


End file.
